Narcissist
by BrodieBlue
Summary: Randy needs something only Dean can give him. Slash pairing. Don't like, don't read.


Randy stormed into a locker room, slamming the door aggressively behind him on his way in. Some kid was already in there.

"What are you looking at?"

The young guy shook his head and his lips moved, but no sound came out of them.

"Get outta here!"

He looked around for something to hurl at him, but luckily for the kid, there was nothing close enough to hand. He quickly scarpered, and Randy followed close to his heels. He drove the bolt on the door hard into its entrance behind the kid, then turned around to look for something else to take out his feelings on. He now regretted throwing him out, he could have toyed with him, bullied him, made himself feel better. He smacked his fist into the metal locker in front of him and that at least felt good. He was glad to see that he had dented the metal when he reared his fist back again. He grunted his pleasure to see that he was making an impression on _something. _Then he heard a voice.

"Do you need some lovin'?"

Who was that? Was it that punk? He could have sworn he'd seen him run the fuck out of there, he'd _locked _the door behind him.

"What?" Randy said to thin air.

He spun on his feet, in search of the man behind the voice. It could just be the voice in his head, it wouldn't be the first time he'd heard voices saying those kinds of things to him ...

"What did you say?!" he yelled.

"Do you need some lovin?" the voice repeated louder, like he was talking to his aging Father.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Randy rubbed his hands over his head and squeezed his cranium. He slapped the side of his temple sharply, to get the voices out. He needed to jerk off, that must have been what the message meant. It was always a good way to release some tension, it might be a good idea right now. He made his way to where he thought the showers must be. On seeing the tiled walls and floor he let out a sigh, already calming down just thinking about the hot water spraying his face and running down his body, seeing his fluids get swallowed up by that hole ... He was about to bend down to take off his boots when he heard something else ...

"Boo."

"Jesus Christ!"

He raised his hand to smack his palm against his head again, but stopped himself when he saw what was directly in front of him. His eyes followed the boots, the jeans, those really long, well shaped legs ...

"I knew I wasn't going mad."

He locked eyes with Dean Ambrose and snarled when he threw his head back and laughed at him.

"Do you think this is funny?"

"Yes, it's hilarious. You are _mad, _you're as mad as a hatter. But it's okay Randy, we're all mad here."

He sniggered again; then Dean crouched down with him.

"Now, I'll answer my question for you, because you were too rude to answer me."

Without warning Dean's hand closed around Randy's ballsack, then he brushed his thumb up his hardening cock.

"Yes, you do want this."

Randy didn't disagree with him; he pushed his groin into Dean's hand, silently encouraging him to slip his hand in his trucks.

"Tell me you want this you deranged fuck."

Dean spat the words out and Randy saw a little saliva escape his pink mouth. He suddenly lurched forward, wanting to taste his mouth, but Dean backed away.

"You know I need this. Don't toy with me."

Dean had given him something that he never knew he had any need for. He was Randy Orton, he looked like a God, he was a third generation wrestler, he had almost everything he wanted ... But some things were missing, like championship gold, like some goddamn _respect_, like ... _this_. _This_ had been missing from his life, until Dean started playing with him.

Dean laughed that laugh again that came from deep within his stomach.

"Even better. You _need_ it. I like it, but tell me what I want to hear."

Dean's hand squeezed just a fraction more, so that his grip became slightly uncomfortable.

"I want you ..."

Randy's words came out as little more than a grunt, but Dean knew that was the best he'd get from him. His eyes lit up triumphantly.

"Mmmmm."

His tongue dragged in an oddly attractive way of his bottom lip.

"Get up," he then said, and stood up with his hand still firm around Randy's tackle.

Randy was forced to rise with him and when he was toe to toe with Dean, a twisted smile crossed his face that matched his. His body was buzzing, yet a calm was flattening all his anger, worries, insecurities ... Dean was going to give him a great gift. When Dean's hand slipped away he bent down to remove his boots again, but Dean's voice halted him.

"Leave the boots on."

"Only if you do the same."

"Oh, he speaks."

Dean's voice was quietly brimming with confidence and Randy's need to feed off that unwavering confidence was ever increasing. He suddenly regretted making any demands of Dean, yet a part of him felt so good to have his demand slapped down like that, he hoped his words would be accompanied by a literal slap, but they weren't.

"I'm leaving everything on."

Randy nearly fell to begging, but he caught himself before he did. He put his hand on Dean's chest and grabbed at the black tank.

"Come on man," he urged him.

No response.

"Give me this one thing. Just this one thing."

Dean picked up Randy's hand and brought it to his lips.

"Begging?"

His lips moved against his knuckles.

"Yes ..."

"I broke you down so easily. Go on, be my bitch, show me your asshole. Then we'll see about the boots."

He glared at Dean, that word still stung.

"Come on, bitch boy."

His face was laughing, smirking and he fucking liked it; he had no idea why. He turned his back on Dean and drew his trunks slowly down his aching cock, kicking them away from him when they became tangled around his boots. He was naked now. Bracing his hands against the cold, hard tiled wall he bent over. Dean came from behind and rubbed his crotch against his ass. His jeans felt rough and the wood he could feel teased him. He then heard Dean crouch down behind him, he grabbed a hold of his thighs and pushed them further apart. His big, warm hands travelled up his cheeks and spread them just a little bit more so that Randy felt Dean's breath flitter over his asshole. He felt a warm puff of breath when he laughed again.

"Don't think this is for you."

Randy's fingertips scrabbled against the tiles when he felt Dean's tongue. He had never known pleasure like it and it had never crossed his mind that he might like this, that he was that kind of man ... until Dean, of course. Randy blindly reached a hand behind him, his fingers found Dean's messy hair and he grabbed a handful.

"Push your face in there," he moaned.

He grabbed for Dean's hand and slapped it on his cock. Dean responded, rapidly pumping up and down the shaft. He could cum, but he didn't want to like this, he wanted Dean's body. Turning around he pushed Dean to the floor, he got on top of him, straddling him and frantically pulled up his tank. He found Dean's flawless skin beneath, he ran a hand down it and it was baby smooth, so unlike the sweaty mess he was right now. He moved his left hand to Dean's pec and kept him flat on his back, with his other hand he coaxed himself to orgasm, all over Dean's stomach.

"Aren't you gonna give me a hand?"

He now noticed Dean's face was slightly flushed, his lips were parted and his blue eyes were wide. He looked vulnerable and needy, just like he needed him, he liked that. He tentatively wrapped his hand around Dean's cock, the weight of another man's in his hand still foreign to him.

"Just like I showed you," Dean encouraged him.

He remembered what Dean had taught him and tried hard to emulate it.

"Is this how Seth did it?"

"Yeah, you're better than Seth."

Randy could tell it was a lie, but he wanted to believe him, so he let himself. Then it was easy. He felt proud of himself when Dean spunked all over his fist, coating his fingers. Dean let his head relax on the floor and he lay still beneath Randy with his arms splayed out, cum slipping down his abdomen. Randy got up to take a shower and leave him to his own thoughts. He smiled as he pulled off his boots, he wondered why Dean liked that so much. He was curious to see Dean like that, in just his boots, why did he never reciprocate some things? Why was this all going so slowly?

"Do you feel better now?" Dean's voice came to him.

Randy finished removing his boots to allow himself time to formulate an answer. He decided that Dean was still someone he should not confide his feelings in; it was still clear to him that he wasn't really interested in how Randy felt, just how he felt.

"I do. Do you?"

When no answer came for him he looked at Dean, he gave a shrug; then got to his feet. He watched Dean strip; he noticed Dean was being careful not to touch his semen. He walked under a shower head and watched Dean do the same, but didn't take much pleasure in it. His shoulders were slumped; he looked downcast and so fucking guilty. He knew what Dean gave him and he wished he could give him the same, but he wasn't Seth.


End file.
